Tis the Season
by SerenityJane
Summary: Six months, and Jack's finally home. Has been for an entire week, and they still haven’t forgiven him. Gwen’s moody, Owen’s being snarky, Tosh is avoiding him and Ianto’s ignoring him. All alone in the Hub was not how he'd wanted to spend Christmas. Slash
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_The Hub . . . _

Jack stretched back, heaved his feet onto Tosh's desk, and settled back into the chair, trying to get comfortable.

His eyes flickered from one screen to the next, trying to find something interesting.

There - a bunch of kids on a doorstep, looking like fluffy baby chickens in their multiple layers of winter gear. Maybe they were disguised Myridhen, he thought hopefully. What better way to gain access to an unsuspecting victim's home than to dress up like innocent little children?

His idle hopes were dashed when the door opened and the puffed-up preschoolers began an off-key rendition of 'Silent Night.'

No, he thought, disappointed. A gang of Myrhiden would have mobbed the elderly couple the moment they opened the door. And if they were going to sing a carol, they would have at least sung in tune.

The CCTV footage flicked to another random image, a street empty of everything except the Council-provided Christmas decorations.

"Just like me," he murmured, trailing a finger over his favourite blue-striped shirt, his favourite because it was Ianto's favourite, the one that matched his eyes perfectly. "Looking absolutely gorgeous, and there's no-one around to admire me."

He was fairly sure he used to enjoy having the Hub to himself. And, on occasion, to himself and Ianto.

But now the emptiness was oppressive rather than peaceful, the silence echoing, interrupted occasionally by sudden muffled noises and squeaks. Once familiar companions, the noises were strange to him now, evoking unpleasant memories. The creaking of chains, hissing of scorched flesh, gagged shrieks, that insane, grating giggle. . .

He stood hurriedly, making his way to Owen's desk and retrieving his IPod from the top drawer. Hooking it in to Tosh's fourth computer, he turned the volume right up, unconcerned about facing her wrath if the speakers were blown.

Pleasantly surprised at Owen's taste, he let the music of Snow Patrol drown out the memories and the background noise, and turned his attention back to the monitors.

Cars disgorging loads of well-dressed people, who scurried across the frosted grass into an overly ornate church.

A well-off neighbourhood which had obviously erupted with the spirit of competition in the weeks leading up to Christmas eve, the decorations shrouding each house and front yard a rich, glittering testament to their wealth and determination to out-do their neighbours.

The few bars remaining open were doing a roaring trade, single men and women away from their families, or with no families to go home to, trying their hardest to have a good time, maybe picking up a stranger just so they won't have to go home alone.

He imagined Owen would be in one of those clubs somewhere, celebrating his release from command and attempting to get someone drunk enough to go home with him.

A movement in an alley off to the side caught his attention. Was it a Weevil? A grindylow? . . . no, he realised, disappointed. It was a couple making out, pressed tight against the brick wall. The camera resolution wasn't even high enough for him to see any details.

He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair, then swung his feet of the desk, making his way to the kitchen to get a late night coffee.

A pristinely white paper sign now adorned the front of the coffee machine, text large and bold, and Jack wondered idly how many times Ianto had replaced it. His own experience said that paper signs in kitchens grew stained and tattered in a remarkably short amount of time.

There was a new rule, apparently, forbidding anyone but Ianto from touching the machine.

He made do with instant, retrieving the small pot of coffee from the pantry and the little electric kettle from the storage cupboard. Crossing his arms, he waited impatiently for the water to boil, wishing Ianto was there, and not just for his coffee.

A few minutes later he was back at his desk, searching the footage again, mug of bitter brew in hand.

He'd been back for one week, and already Jack was bored. He'd forgotten how life was here, in comparison to travelling with the Doctor. In Cardiff, it was long weeks of nothing happening, rain, filing reports and examining alien hardware, interspersed with adrenaline-and-terror-fuelled fights for life and sanity, usually accompanied by rain.

With the Doctor, though, the fight for life and sanity was nearly constant. And usually rainless.

That last year with the Master had been a bit too intense for his liking, though.

Shivering at the dark memories threatening to rise up again, he took a sip of his coffee, grimacing, then turned his attention back to the screens, trying to find a distraction.

Part of him regretted allowing the others to have the night off, now. They were barely being civil to him at the moment - Gwen was moody, alternately pissed off with him for leaving and insanely happy to have him back; Tosh was at least talking to him, but she was more withdrawn than usual, and for the first few days he had had the feeling that she was stalking him using the security cameras whenever he was out of sight to make sure he wasn't leaving again; Owen was glad he was back, if only so he didn't have to be in charge anymore, but kept snarking at him, even more viciously than usual; and Ianto . . . he wasn't getting anything from Ianto, just that blank, dead mask and cold eyes, accompanied by a 'Yes, Sir,' or 'No, Sir,' or the occasional, 'I'll take care of it, Sir.'

It was eerily similar to how he had been just after Lisa died, except that the impassive facade had been presented to the entire team back then, and now it was directed solely at Jack.

The girls and even Owen still got the occasional slight smile and raised eyebrow, cute rhyme and sardonic remark, but Ianto gave him nothing. Well, he had given Jack a concussion and an incredibly vicious-sounding tongue-lashing in Welsh when he first walked into the Hub last Monday, but he'd received nothing but blankness since then. It hurt more than he would have expected.

He had gone in search of Myfanwy earlier, figuring that even a reconstituted dinosaur might be better company than his own, but she was ignoring him, apparently no more happy than the others were at his six-month, still inadequately-explained absence.

Despite their attitudes, he wished the team were here. Arguing with them would have at least livened things up, hopefully got a few feelings out in the open.

They had all looked so tired, though. So goddamned tired. They had all needed a break, and it was Christmas, so he had ordered them all to go home, told them he would stay in the Hub. The distrust in their eyes had cut deep, and it was a measure of how tired they really were that they had left him here alone.

Well, the distrust in Gwen's, Owen's and Tosh's eyes had cut deep. The ice in Ianto's had flayed flesh from bone. A feeling he knew very well now, courtesy of the Master.

He took another sip of coffee, gaze continuing to flicker from screen to screen, knowing it was extremely unlikely that he was going to spot a Judoon strolling down the deserted back-roads of Cardiff, but there was nothing else for him to do.

There was no paperwork - Owen seemed to have kept it all up to date, though he had his suspicions about who was really responsible for that.

Jack had already gone through most of the mission reports completed since he'd left - all the ones that mattered, anyway. He had come into his office one morning and found his desk buried under neatly stacked files, a post-it note attached to the front of each with a few words in Ianto's pathologically neat handwriting, suggesting to him which sections he should read.

His sincere thank you had won him an impassive stare and a blandly murmured, "It's my job, Sir."

He had met the new inhabitants of the cell blocks, had a look at the few bits of tech that had washed up from the Rift whilst he was gone and identified some the team hadn't been able to put a name to, he had attempted to break into Owen's filing cabinet to have a look at the more recent medical records (because unfortunately patient-doctor confidentiality did extend to Torchwood, and it was something Owen was surprisingly protective of), only to be met with a dead-lock seal.

He was so bored, and he needed a distraction yet he couldn't leave. There had been another new rule made in his absence about never leaving the Hub unmanned. It was a sensible rule, he supposed, and he didn't want to undercut Owen's authority or confidence by discarding it, but it was a pain in the ass.

Regardless of the rule, Jack had promised he would stay, and now was not a good time to be breaking promises. Not if he wanted to prevent being sedated and micro-chipped like a family pet with a habit of straying. And not if he wanted his team to ever trust him again.

Otherwise, he might have gone down to join the press of desperate singles at one of the bars. A bit of admiration, some harmless flirting, a quick fuck to distract him, exactly what he needed at the moment.

Maybe he should call Ianto, he thought to himself. Sure, the man hated him at the moment, but Jack had brought him around before. Maybe it wasn't even hatred lurking behind the mask - could be honest fury, homicidal rage, hurt, fear, fear of being hurt . . . the sooner he knew what it was, the sooner he could begin plotting his way into being forgiven.

Besides, he kind of missed the sound of his voice. And his accent. And that little twitch of the mouth that was, for him, a smile. The quirked eyebrow, and quirky sense of humour. That little moan when Jack's mouth found just the right spot on his neck. The feel of Ianto's body beneath his, or above, or beside, or around . . .

He found himself reaching for the phone, but was distracted by one of the images flashing across the screen.

"Hello," he murmured to himself, leaning forward hurriedly and pressing a key. The random display halted, and he grinned.

There was a furry red bundle slowly stalking, sloth-like, across a dimly-lit intersection, its long claws starkly silver against the black tar road, needle-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.

He manipulated the camera angle and focused until he could see the names written on the street signs, then stood, grabbing his coat and heading through the Hub to where the SUV was parked.

Then came to a sudden halt when he recalled the new rule.

"Dammit!" he hissed, sitting down again. He pulled out his mobile, then hesitated. It wasn't anyone's idea of a good time, having to babysit the Hub on Christmas eve. He gazed at the screen - the furry thing slinking its way across the road had only just reached the centre of the intersection. It was so slow, he could probably catch it and get back here before anyone noticed he had gone . . .

"They're mad enough already, without me breaking the rules the first week I'm back," he decided, and entered speed-dial 4, waiting impatiently as the phone rang.

* * *

A/N 

Merry Christmas! A little late, I know. I'd call it a Boxing Day Gift except that was yesterday. Or at least, it was in Aus. If it's still Boxing Day where you are, then Happy Boxing Day!

Please leave a comment - I love hearing from you guys :) (And it seems only fair since I'm giving you a gift. An unasked-for gift, but a gift all the same)

Hope you all had a good Christmas!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Gwen and Rhys's Flat . . . _

Rhys grinned at the television, watching the animated, well-endowed reindeer move across the screen. It was a shame they only put this cartoon on around Christmas-time - he had even considered finding a copy of it on DVD, until Gwen had talked him out of it. 'It's our Christmas thing, sweetheart," she had said. "We curl up on the couch, drink lots of eggnog and watch all the stupid Christmas specials. 'Robbie the Reindeer' is the only half-decent one they've got on - do you really want to spoil it by being able to watch it all the time?'

Not that she was watching it at the moment. "Gwen?" he called. "You gonna be in there all night?"

Her indignant response was muffled by the closed door.

He grinned to himself, sat back and watched as Robbie tried to get in with that tart Vixen, yet again.

Gwen's mobile went off, vibrating against the glass coffee table. He reached over and picked it up, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Hello? Gwen's phone."

There was a pause before the other person answered. "Hi, Rhys. How's it going?"

Rhys frowned, recognising that cocky American accent.

"Who is it?" Gwen called.

He took the phone away from his ear, covering the speaker so the Captain couldn't hear what he was saying. "Just some bloke - wants to know if you're happy with your happy with your current telephone service."

"Well I'm not - not if telemarketers are getting my mobile number. It's supposed to be private."

He got up from the couch, moving to stand next to the wall by the window, the furthest he could get from the bathroom without leaving the lounge-room altogether.

"Don't worry -" he shouted back, "I'll deal with it."

He placed the phone back against his ear, in time to hear another slightly irritated "Hello."

"I heard you were back," he said, speaking quietly, keeping an eye on the door across the room. "She was worried sick about you, you know," he continued, unable to keep a hint of rebuke from his tone. He remembered watching Gwen's eyes, growing darker as the weeks went on without any word from her boss until she finally gave in, crying and sobbing in his arms for half a night, convinced he wasn't coming back.

Rhys had been jealous, he had been nearly green with it, but he'd pushed what he felt aside because it was Gwen that was hurting.

Even the joy and panic in her eyes when she'd the test results came back positive had been tinged by sadness.

She'd gone on, kept going to work and kept coming home, but the spark hadn't returned to her eyes until a week ago, when she'd told him that Jack was back. How could he hate the man for doing that?

"I know,' the other man said, and there was regret in his tone. "There wasn't time to warn them, to let her know I was leaving. I hadn't even known for sure if I would be coming back."

There was a pause, and a slight rustle in the background, barely audible over what he thought might have been Snow Patrol's 'It's Beginning to Get to Me'. A hand being run through hair, maybe.

"I knew I would have to go eventually,' the other man continued, voice uncharacteristically soft, as though talking to himself. "I could have warned them I might have to go, prepared them. They wouldn't have liked it, me not being able to explain why. Not that they like it now. I thought it would be easier . . ." There was an awkward pause, and Rhys thought the Captain must have recalled who he was speaking to. "Anyway," the man said with his usual abruptness, "Is Gwen around?"

"She is," Rhys replied, honestly. "I'll not be putting you through to her, though."

"Why not."

"Because it's Christmas Eve, and you've given her the night off, so you wouldn't have called unless it was something urgent." He took a breath, recalling a recent conversation, reminding himself that what she did, what they did, was important, and continued more calmly. "I know enough about what she does now to realise that 'urgent' for you lot usually means 'dangerous'."

"Shouldn't this be Gwen's decision to make?" the other man said after a moment, and his voice was surprisingly gentle. Rhys felt his face heat slightly, probably flushed red with guilt.

"Yes, it should be Gwen's decision," he replied. "But I know what shot-gun wounds look like, Captain. I know a knife slash when I see one, and judging from how close it is to the tendons on her wrist, she's lucky she still has the use of her hand. That bite mark around her thigh - it's far too big for a dog, so unless she's been moonlighting as a zookeeper I don't know what could have done it, and I don't care. But something that big could have torn her apart. There's a burn mark on her shoulder the size and shape of a man's hand. A thick ridge of scars crossing right from one side of her back to the other, like she's been whipped."

He stopped for a moment, trying to get himself under control. He continued, more calmly. "So, I'm grateful that you're back, Captain, because most of those scars didn't appear until after you left. And you're right, it should be her decision, whether or not she goes to work tonight. But it's not just herself she has to worry about now."

He heard the toilet flush, and moved into the bedroom to give himself a bit more time. The bed creaked slightly in complaint as he sat, and Rhys recalled with guilt the amount of take-away he'd eaten that week.

"What do you mean, it's not just herself she has to worry about?" the other man asked.

"She's pregnant," Rhys replied, and was unable to keep the pride from his voice. "Three months, now. Only found out for certain a fortnight ago."

"She didn't tell me," Jack murmured, and Rhys found himself responding to the trace of hurt he could hear in the other man's voice.

"You've only been back for a week," he said reassuringly. "We're still getting used to the idea ourselves, you know." He could scarcely believe it. Him, Rhys Williams, a father. He fully intended to be a stay-at-home dad, much as his father might hate it, and spoil the kid rotten.

"She is going to tell you - and I'd really appreciate it if you could act surprised when she does -" the other man snorted with what Rhys thought was amusement, and he smiled in response " - but she's just working her way up to it. You know what she's like, Gwen - hates to say no to anyone, especially if she thinks it's something she should be doing."

"Yeah, that's Gwen," the other man was silent, thinking. "Alright, Rhys - I'll find someone else."

"Thank you -"

"This time," the Captain cut him off. "I will try and keep Gwen out of trouble once she gets back to work, but it's ultimately her decision if and when she decides to take some leave time, or if she decides to resign her position. I'll discuss it with her when she decides to break the news."

"I understand," Rhys replied. "And thank you, for Christmas. I do appreciate it."

"Your welcome," the man replied, sounding slightly nonplussed. After a moment he continued, "You seem to have changed your attitude a bit."

Rhys flushed again, reminded of his behaviour when Gwen had taken off half-way through dinner at their restaurant last year.

"Christmas spirit and impending fatherhood, I think. Also, I had a chat with one of Gwen's mates from work a few months ago, one of your 'agents,' I suppose. Lovely bloke, set me straight on a few things, explained as much as he could about what Gwen does - put my mind at ease a bit."

"Right," the Captain drawled, and he didn't sound too pleased.

'Serves you right for leaving without a word of explanation, mate,' Rhys thought, smirking a bit. 'Not their fault if you don't like the decisions they made while you were gone.'

"Do you remember the man's name?" Jack asked.

"'Course I do - met up with him a few times since at that Indian restaurant, The Cinnamon Tree on Kings Road. Make fantastic curries. Anyway, his name was Ianto . . . Jones, I think it was."

"Huh," the man exclaimed, sounding surprised. "Well, enjoy your Christmas. And congratulations, by the way."

"Thank you - Merry Christmas."

He pressed disconnect and heaved himself off the bed, turning to find Gwen leaning in the doorway.

He felt a bit nervous for a moment, wondering what she knew what he'd been up to, until she smiled at him.

"You don't have to be nice to telemarketers, you know," Gwen said, sounding amused. "Especially ones that call on Christmas Eve - " she paused, glancing down at her watch, "or Christmas morning. 12.30am in the morning - rude buggers."

"Hey," he grinned at her, wrapping his arms about her tiny waist and walking her backwards towards the couch. "Told you I'd take care of it, didn't I?"

_The Hub . . . _

"Gwen is pregnant," Jack said to himself. "Well, that might explain the mood-swings."

Gwen was pregnant. And had a number of . . . interesting (terrifying, a little voice whispered in the back of his mind) wounds, that for some reason weren't mentioned in the reports that Ianto had marked for his attention. He wondered if the Welshman had left those reports out because he didn't consider them relevant, or if he was trying to spare his Captain's feelings?

Then he wondered what else had happened, what other wounds his team had received that he might have prevented had he been here, where he belonged? How many times they had lain close to death whilst he was off chasing the Doctor, with his cryptic half-answers and accusations of Jack being wrong. His inadequate justifications for leaving him behind on that corse-ridden games-station like he was nothing, like he didn't mean anything to the Time Lord or to Rose.

Left him behind, just like Jack had left his team behind. God, how could he blame them for hating him?

How many scars were concealed beneath Owen's lab-coat and jeans, Tosh's silk blouses and skirts or trousers, Ianto's well-tailored suits?

He frowned. Hadn't Tosh been wearing blouses with longer sleeves than usual? Higher-cut necklines as well, and longer skirts.

Jack was sure he had caught a glimpse of a whitish ridge beginning on the back of Ianto's left wrist and snaking up his arm before disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket.

And Owen was moving more stiffly than usual. He said he'd strained his ankle when Jack had asked about it, but if that was all it was, it should have healed by now.

'I had to go,' he told himself again, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.

He'd had to know for certain what had happened to Rose, if the Doctor was alright, why they had left him?

He had to know why he couldn't die.

The questions had haunted him for so long, so many years and so many close calls, missing the Tardis by days, hours, minutes, sometimes only seconds. Three different faces, three different Doctors he had seen coming and going from that blue box, and only one was the current - his current - doctor.

"I had to go," he told himself more firmly. Without his time vortex manipulator, how would the Doctor and Martha have been able to get back to the 21st century to find the Master and defeat the Toclafane? If the Master hadn't been killed, then the team really would have been dead. Very dead.

Jack had lost count of the number of times the monster had made him watch √ over and over again, until their faces began to run together, and it all just became one constant scream, one river of blood, streaming down and soaking into the dirt-become-mud at their feet, a death of one thousand tiny little laser-made cuts. Or would that have been four thousand? No, it was three thousand, because one of them had been saved for later.

He took a deep breath, focusing on the lyrics of the music echoing around him, trying to see past the visions carved into his eyes.

_"I tried to tell you before I left  
But I was screaming under my breath  
You are the only thing that makes sense  
Just ignore all this present tense"_

Trying to figure out the meaning of that last line managed to bring him out of the nightmare entirely.

'Okay,' he said aloud, for no particular reason.

It helped relieve some of the guilt, recalling his reasons for leaving and what would have been set in stone in that other year had he not, but he still resolved to get inside Owen's filing cabinet, by means fair or foul, and check everyone's medical records as soon as possible.

He frowned, wondering if Gwen had given Owen the news yet, and hoping they had used protection during their short affair. Jack actually liked Rhys. He thought he knew the man fairly well after reading the results of the extensive background check Ianto had done on the man after Gwen had joined up. A nice, ordinary, attractive guy with gentle eyes. Also protective.

It really wasn't his business, but he thought the man deserved better than to play the role of cuckold.

And Ianto, who was supposed to be the secretive, tight-lipped one, had apparently been getting chatty with the man, with Gwen's civilian boyfriend, and though Rhys certainly seemed to be happier with Gwen's line of work now (worry about the mortal danger she was in aside), Jack couldn't help but wonder why the hell Ianto had spoken to him. Ianto, of all people.

It could have been under Owen's orders, he supposed, but if so he wondered why the doctor hadn't sent Tosh, who being a woman would obviously be the most non-threatening choice. Or so he thought Owen would have reasoned.

In reality, though, Tosh couldn't lie for all the goats in Tibet. Plus she'd had that adorable but misguided crush on Owen for two years now, and Owen had been having that affair with Gwen behind Rhys' back . . . Ianto probably was the best choice, being quite capable of lying and also the only one not involved in the love . . . triangle? no, it would only be a real triangle if there was some attraction between Tosh and Gwen. Or Rhys and Owen. It could have been a love square if there was something between Rhys and Tosh, which would have been interesting . . . well, there was always hope - the two of them hadn't met yet, after all.

Anyway, if Owen had ordered Ianto rather than Tosh to have a chat to Rhys, it seemed as though he might have actually learned some tact.

Jack sat back heavily in his chair, keeping an eye on the slow-moving ball of fur and claws, and wondered if the world had come to an end after all.

Looking down at his phone, he entered speed-dial two and waited impatiently. "The bar he's at better be nearby," he muttered, marking the alien's slow but steady progress.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Owen's Apartment . . . _

Owen sighed, arching his back against the silk bedspread, unable to restrain himself as strong, nimble fingers stroked him. He reached up, grasping shoulders and pulling hot lips down meet his. They kissed deeply, tongues darting and pressing, until his partner pulled away, nose wrinkled delicately.

"God, Owen, how much have you had to drink?"

"Just enough."

"Oh." Blue eyes twinkled playfully as the hands were removed, the warm body moved away from his. "Well, if this behaviour is a result of your intoxication alone, perhaps it would be best if I leave for the moment." Naked legs slipped over the side of the bed. "At least until the alcohol has left your system."

"No, you don't," Owen growled, tugging an arm until they were back in the center of the bed, and pinned the too-slim yet muscular body beneath his.

"Oh, so you do want me then?"

"You know I do."

Owen groaned as he pressed into the warm body beneath his, nuzzling his mouth against a strong jaw, relaxing as hands ran firmly over his back and arse. A leg hooked around the back of his thighs, pressing him closer.

He groaned even louder at the sudden invasive ringing, then decided to ignore it. Anyone bastard enough to try and interrupt his Christmas Eve shag wasn't worth talking to.

"Are you going to get that, then?"

"No," Owen replied, ignoring the niggling guilt he felt. It wasn't like he was the boss, anymore. He could be as irresponsible as he pleased.

"If you don't, I will. Never could stand a ringing phone."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

A perfectly manicured hand reached in the direction of the phone. Owen swatted it roughly away, sighing in defeat.

"Fine," he snapped, carefully clambering off his mate and sitting on the side of the bed. "I'm coming, for fuck's sake," he said, taking a moment for the room to stop wavering, running a hand through his hair, trying to force his mind past the lust- and alcohol- induced haze.

"You'd better not be."

He snorted in amusement, then picked up the hand set.

"H'lo?"

"Owen? It's Jack."

"It's Christm's," Owen grumbled, slurring his voice artfully. 'What d'you wan'?"

"How drunk are you?"

"I dunno . . ." he blew out a harsh breath, and frowned slightly. Was that Chasing Cars he could hear in the background? "I'd say m' blood . . . al-co-hol . . . content is 'bout . . . 1.5? .15?"

"Right. So, too drunk to join me in a cross-suburb red fuzzy alien hunt?"

"I'd say so," he grunted, grinning down at the hand that had snaked around his waist to rest in his lap. "Is it gonna go on a killin' spree or somethin' if we don'-" he paused for a jaw cracking yawn "- catch it t'night?"

He felt the bed shift and glanced around to find himself being intensely scrutinised by sharp blue eyes.

'Bollocks,' he thought to himself. 'And no retcon handy, either . . . '

"At the moment I'm not too sure, Owen," Jack replied, in his most sarcastic tone, "but I don't really want to risk it, especially since it's currently stalking through a suburban neighbourhood. You know, the suburbs, where the yards are big, the fuel consumption is high and the families come with lots of little children?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but I wouldn't be of any use. I'd probably manage to get my -" he halted for another yawn "- drunk arse hit by a car or something. Have you tried the others?"

"Gwen . . . isn't available, but I haven't tried Tosh or Ianto yet." He paused for a moment, and Owen thought he heard a keyboard clicking in the background. "You sound remarkably coherent all of a sudden, Owen," he commented sharply.

"Bite me, Harkness. The brain's fine, just a bit fuzzy. Reaction time and coordination are off, though. I wouldn't mind shooting you so much, you'd just bounce right back up, but I wouldn't be quite so sanguine about hitting one of those little children you just mentioned."

"Fine, I'll try Tosh," he replied, exasperated.

"And I'm sure _he's _going to appreciate being the last resort." Owen replied, sarcasm lacing his tone.

"Merry Christmas, Owen," Jack snapped.

"Merry Christmas," he replied to the dial tone, smirking as he replaced the handset.

He grinned, swinging his feet back onto the mattress and crawling back to the centre if the bed. "Now, where were we?"

"Was there a problem?"

Owen didn't answer, just kissed the mouth beneath his greedily to forestall further questions, one hand slipping low to distract, the other surreptitiously reaching over to the bedside cabinet. Finding the mobile phone perched there, he spent a moment running fingers over unfamiliar buttons until he found the off-switch.

A sudden sharp nip on his lower lip surprised him into pulling his head back.

"I'm not that -" there was a gasp, and Owen grinned smugly at the effect his hands were having. After a moment of heavy breathing, he continued "- not that easily distracted, Owen. Tell me what the Captain said."

Owen scowled in annoyance. 'It's Christmas, for fuck's sake,' he though angrily. 'Stupid goddamn aliens, can't respect the sanctity of a public fucking holiday. . . '

If only there was some retcon left, Owen could have made him forget that Jack called. Now he was going to insist on going down to the Hub . . . Well, there was one way to keep this going a bit longer, anyway.

Owen grinned down at Ianto, challenge in his eyes. "Make me."

"Tosh is right about you, you know - a sex-starved, hormonal teenager in a middle-aged man's body."

"What are you on about? Middle-aged -"

The world tilted and he was on his back, Ianto moving above him, all soft/hard lips and seeking tongue, probing fingers, warm and silky skin . . . he came so close, but Ianto wouldn't finish it, kept backing off until Owen was begging for release. He managed to hold out for all of ten minutes before it became too much and he repeated Jack's half of the conversation in short, sharp gasps.

A few minutes later Owen was still trying to catch his breath, lying back and listening to the sound of water on tile as Ianto took a hurried shower. He emerged still dripping, hair in disarray, a surprisingly short time later.

Owen sighed loudly. "He's immortal, Ianto. There's a limit to the amount of trouble he can get into without you there to hold his hand."

He watched as the younger man strode across the room, opening the wardrobe door to retrieve the suit he had hung there earlier.

"You're not a fucking lapdog - you don't need to come running every time he calls you."

"He didn't call me." Ianto pointed out distractedly, wiggling into the trousers and pulling on his undershirt.

"You know what I mean. I thought you weren't going to do this again. He left you. I mean, he left us all, but he _left _you."

He sat up, and the move seemed to shift all the wine into his head. 'That's odd, he thought to himself distractedly. 'If I'm sitting up, shouldn't the wine move down?' It took him a few seconds to recall that alcohol is transported about the body by the bloodstream, and a change of bodily position shouldn't effect it.

"Left you, just like Dianne left me," he murmured. Owen didn't know whether to be happy for Ianto or hate him, which was horrible because they were supposed to be mates - best mates, probably, because it's not like he had any others. But he couldn't help but think - what did Ianto do that made him deserve to have Jack back, whilst Dianne was still fuck knows where? In another time or place or planet, dead or trapped or just free and not wanting to come back?

Why had she left him, anyway? Dianne had loved him, she'd said so. Was he really that unbearable, that she fled through a rift in space and time rather than face the possibility of being with him for more than a few weeks?

He looked up from his clenched hands to find Ianto looking down at him, brows furrowed so slightly, in what Owen interpreted as concern.

"You coming, then?" the Welshman asked, fingers moving surely over the tie at his throat. "We'll probably need someone to keep an eye on the hub whilst we're chasing the - fuzzy red aliens, was it? Don't need much . . . coordination for that."

Owen scowled up at the ceiling, clearly hearing several of the words Ianto had considered and discarded in that short pause. Speed, mobility, leg movement . . .

"Oh, I don't know." Owen replied. "Wouldn't want to get in the way of anything."

Ianto rolled his eyes slightly. "There's nothing to get in the way of. As I have told you before, on numerous occasions, I have no plans to get back with the Captain. Not for sex, and not for anything else. Honestly, Owen, I don't see why you're so concerned about it - "

"I'm not jealous, if that's what you're thinking." Owen stretched, yawning, then rolled over to the bed's edge, sitting up and pressing his feet against the soft carpet, trying to ignore the biting ache in his left calf muscle, attempting to convince his body to heave itself off the bed and take those few steps into the ensuite.

Ianto stepped gingerly over a pile of Owen's clothing, discarded in their earlier haste, and pulled him to his feet, slipping an arm about his waist to steady him.

Owen leaned against the other man slightly. "No, I'm not jealous. Concerned, yeah. I remember what you were like when he left, chasing after that bloody Doctor of his, and not a word of fucking warning . . ."

"You saw the CCTV footage, Owen. It's not like he had time to write a letter."

"Don't you start defending him. Inconsiderate bastard had plenty of time to warn us beforehand."

He stepped carefully over the little ledge into the shower cubicle, and yelped at the sudden onslaught of icy water. He glared at Ianto, who just looked back at him with those oh-so-innocent baby-blues, then reached over and twisted the hot water on.

"All he gave us were those cryptic little remarks to Gwen - about finding the 'right sort of doctor', and having to keep hydrated because he might have to leave at any time." Owen sighed, turning his back towards the water, pounding against him whilst he sought the soap and loofah.

"Why didn't he just sit us all down, tell us that he might have to go at any moment, and if he does we were not to worry? And, for that matter, he could have said he was going to leave me in charge - clearing up the chain of command, that would have saved me no end of trouble."

"You didn't do too badly."

"You lot only ever listened to me half the time."

"Because if we had listened to you the rest of the time you would've gotten us all killed."

"I thought you said I did well?"

"Oh, you did. Taught us all a few things, too." Owen glanced up to see Ianto grinning. Well, smiling anyway. But a proper smile from Ianto was rare enough it counted as a grin. "I somehow doubt we're all going to be blindly following the Captain's orders from now on."

"Ooh, rebellion of the teaboy! What are you going to do, start spitting in his coffee?"

Ianto snorted, then walked back into the bedroom, where Owen could hear the faint rustle of clothing over the dripping water.

Emerging a few minutes later, he found Ianto fully dressed, and a clean set of clothes laid out on his bed. Underwear, jeans, black t-shirt. He couldn't help but grin when he recognised which shirt it was.

"Look, Ianto," he called out as he pulled the shirt over his head. A bit tight, he thought, frowning to himself. A visit to the gym might be in order. "we're not just fuck-buddies, we're mates, right?"

"I suppose so."

The voice was coming from the lounge room.

"Oi, what are you doin' out there?" he asked suspiciously, hurriedly pulling on underwear and jeans. "You'd better not be tidying."

"I'm waiting." His voice was nearly expressionless, but there was an impatient jingling of keys.

Glancing about the room as he came in, he couldn't see anything noticeably different - everything just looked a little . . . neater . . . than it had before.

"Every bloody time," he muttered to himself, striding over to the shoe-rack by the door and pulled on a pair of runners, ignoring Ianto's tsk of disapproval at his not wearing socks.

"Yes, I'd say we're mates," Ianto said, responding to his earlier question.

"Then, in the name of mateship, I've got some advice for you." He straightened, glanced up and caught Ianto's 'oh, this is going to be good' expression. "And don't look at me like that."

He opened the door and walked out, Ianto following and locking the door behind him.

"Well, then, don't keep me waiting. What pearls of wisdom does the doctor wish to share?"

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of humour," Owen muttered, and continued quickly to avoid a stinging comeback. "Stop doing that cold, emotionless butler thing to the Captain. Even I know that you use it to hide what your feeling, and if I know it you can be damn sure that Jack does."

They walked side-by-side down the hallway, Owen leaning against him lightly, then reached the end and entered the elevator.

"Particularly after you slammed him into the wall the last time he kissed you." He hit the button for the car park. "You know, immortal or not, I'm surprised he got over the concussion so quickly."

Owen could remember it all clearly - he had watched it a number of times since, after taking a copy of the recording.

Jack walked into the indexing section of the Archives, and stood there in the doorway, watching Ianto rummaging through one of the filing cabinets.

Ianto had found what he was looking for, pushed the drawer closed and set the file down on top of the cabinet.

He had frozen, hearing the scuffing of shoe against stone, or feeling the air stir or sensing the other man's presence, Owen doesn't know how he does it but the man always knows when he's not alone.

He had whirled around, hand automatically dropping to the pistol he now wore strapped about his waist.

And had seen Jack walking towards him.

Ianto's expression was a dictionary-perfect description of disbelief, and he seemed frozen in place until Jack had grabbed his shoulders and pushed him against the filing cabinet, leaning forward, pressing their bodies tight together, and kissing the Archivist in a way Owen had never seen Jack kiss anyone (and he had seen the boss snog quite a number of people).

Then after a long moment Ianto had shoved him away, slamming the larger man up against the adjoining wall, hands tight around the Captain's throat, his face distorted with rage.

The look on Jack's face had been priceless.

Gwen had interfered, of course, having followed Jack, and Ianto had stalked off to lurk in a dark, remote corner of the Archives.

Owen had followed a few minutes later to make sure he was alright (because that was what mates did, wasn't it? And besides, they'd been shagging on and off for four months by that point. Probably the longest relationship he'd ever had, casual or otherwise).

Ianto had refused to talk about it, but Owen hadn't seen the man interact with Jack with anything except the distant Butler routines since.

"He's not stupid," Owen continued. "He knows you still feel something - a sane person doesn't switch from homicidal rage one moment to complete blankness the next."

"Can I expect to wake up in a padded cell and overly tight jacket some time in the next few days, then, Dr Harper?"

Owen ignored him, continued giving what he thought was damned good advice. "Anyway, you know what he's like - you keep on with the icy attitude he's going to start to see it as a challenge. Just go back to treating him like you used to - after Lisa, but before the fucking."

The elevator dinged, indicating that after an eternity they had finally reached the car park.

"Pass me the keys?" Owen asked, holding out his hand.

"You're drunk, Owen. I'm driving."

"I am not drunk. I had a few, I admit, but so did you! Look, no slurring, no staggering, me hands are steady, could perform surgery on the Queen herself if I 'ad to - give me the keys."

Ianto had looked at him with that irritating, 'I know everything there is to know about you and the world in general so there's no point in lying to me' look of his, and said. "You only ever talk about this sort of thing when you're drunk."

"As opposed to you, who refuse to talk about it at all."

Ianto just looked at him with that calm, sapphire stare.

"I'm driving."

_The Hub . . ._

Jack scowled down at the mobile. If the man's stint as leader had taught him about tact, he obviously hadn't learned anything about responsibility.

"Alright, then. Tosh."

* * *

A/N 

Hi! This is my (slightly delayed) Christmas present for you reading people, whether you want it or not!

Don't know if it's any good - don't have a beta so I rely on you lot to tell me!

Should I keep going? If yes, probably won't be done 'til New Years - let me know if you're interested in reading more.

Please comment - con-crit / un-con-crit /corrections / flames / your favourite colour - don't care! Just love hearing from you guys :)

Hope you all had a good Christmas!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Tosh's house . . ._

The phone rang just as Grandfather began carving. Tosh smiled at her neighbour apologetically, trying not to look too relieved at the interruption.

She stood, slowly pushing her chair back from the overcrowded table, careful not to run into anyone's toes. "Sumimasen," she murmured, excusing herself, ignoring her Aunt Atsuko's huff of annoyance at being interrupted mid-tirade.

If Tosh had had to dodge one more question from her Aunt as to why she wasn't married with children of her own, she may have had to take drastic action. Well, she would have considered taking drastic action.

Or, she smiled to herself ruefully, more likely she would have been tempted to consider taking drastic action.

Surrounded by her family once again, she found that being the dutiful daughter was a difficult habit to break.

Tosh had always tried to be the perfect daughter - not because her parents expected it of her, but because she'd always wanted to please them. When she was growing up, she studied hard, played seldom, got excellent grades, and never dated anyone her parents would consider inappropriate.

Four years ago and at the age of 26, she had still been playing the same role. She had remained living in London to be close to her parents, both of whom were stationed there, employed in the upper echelons of the Royal Air Force. Tosh had had a good, well-paid job, with all the entitlements that came of being a Government employee, a supportive group of friends, even a fiancИe.

Then her mother had died, and there didn't seem to be any point anymore.

She had joined Torchwood One a year later, against her father's wishes. He was positioned high enough to know at least some of what Torchwood's role was, and had decided it was no place for his precious daughter (which hardly seemed fair, as he had been more than proud when her brother Yori had followed in his footsteps by joining the air force).

After an encounter with the Doctor at Albion Hospital in London which caused her to revise her opinion on Torchwood policy, Tosh had finally given in to Captain Jack Harkness' determined assault and transferred to Torchwood Three in Cardiff, which had employed policies much more to her liking.

It was a move that most definitely would have been against her father's wishes, and if he had been speaking to her, she was sure he would have been most vocal in that disapproval.

Tosh thought her mother would have understood, though, had she still been alive. Might have understood about Mary, as well, and the reason why Tosh had never married. A reason she had only recently realised herself, and would have given anything to be able to speak to her Mother about.

Never would she even consider giving the real reason for her unmarried state to her ever-proper Aunt Atsuko. How two sisters could end up being so completely different was beyond her.

'Who'd be calling me at this hour?' she wondered, determinedly pushing thoughts of her mother away as she walked around the table. She couldn't suppress a thrill of hope, that maybe her father had finally relented.

Carefully avoiding the Christmas tree and the oddly shaped, over-wrapped packages beneath it, and the multitude of children darting around her ankles (there were only supposed to be five of them, but their numbers seemed to be increasing exponentially), she made her way towards the kitchen.

The ringing stopped suddenly, and a high-pitched voice could be heard over the murmured conversation and clinking of cutlery. "Moshi moshi?"

She peeked through the entrance-way into the kitchen in time to see her little cousin bowing at the waist, handset to his ear.

'Adorable,' she thought, smiling. She hadn't seen anyone do that since her last visit to Japan.

After a few moments of intent listening, which involved tilting his head to the side and chewing on his fingers, Hiroshi started giggling. "Nani?" he asked, "Anata no nihon-go wa osoroshii desu."

Tosh raised an eyebrow slightly. Definitely not her father, then.

"Hiroshi-kun!" Uncle Akio called from the lounge-room, voice stern.

Hiroshi glanced in his father's direction, slightly shame-faced, then held the phone out to Tosh with both hands, being especially polite to make up for his transgression.

"Origato," she said, accepting with both hands, then ran a hand through his silky black hair. She gave him a gentle push in the direction of the family, before holding the phone against her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Toshiko. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"I'd ask you the same," she replied sharply, "except I already know the answer." Tosh was getting very tired of secrets. How could Jack expect them to just accept him back, no questions asked? Six months he'd been gone, leaving without warning and returning without explanation.

"Hey, Tosh," Jack laughed. "Your tongue's gotten sharper in my absence."

"A lot happened whilst you were gone, Jack," she replied coolly.

"Yeah, I'm getting that. Or, I should say I've got some of it, and I'm intending to get the rest of it. Since when did you guys start putting dead-lock seals on filing cabinets?"

Tosh couldn't help but smile to herself. So he'd already tried breaking into Owen's records.

She grinned, recalling Jack's reaction when he'd been unable to access Mainframe, not long after he returned. He'd had been furious.

She had given him her well-rehearsed explanation - 'It's standard procedure to change the entry and security codes and passwords when a team member goes missing, Jack - I believe the procedure was instated as a precaution, in case that member becomes compromised or has the codes extracted from him. So, of course, we won't be able to give you the new codes and passwords until Owen has performed an in-depth examination.'

It hadn't been childish revenge - or not entirely, anyway. They, being Owen, Ianto, Gwen and herself, had been conspiring to get the Captain on to Owen's examination table, because until that point the man had absolutely refused to do so.

It had worked, though Owen had had to endure more grumbling and swearing than he would have had to from himself.

Then, satisfied that Jack was Jack (though honestly that hadn't been in much doubt), the codes had been handed over.

Except for those to undo the deadlock seal on Owen's filing cabinet.

"Anyway, to rephrase." Jack cleared his throat before continuing. "Who was the little girl I was speaking to? And please don't tell me she's yours, because I've had all the news of unexpected parenthood I can take for today."

"That was my cousin, Hiroshi. He - " she stressed significantly, "- has come over from Japan for Christmas, with his parents and some of my extended family."

"Right - Hiroshi. Manly little guy."

Tosh glanced towards the lounge-room, hearing an explosion of shrieks and giggles. Stretching the cord to its limit, she peered into the other room, to find the . . .she did a quick head count . . . five children huddled in the corner, little Hiroshi at the centre, waving his hands about as he spoke, though what he said was lost beneath the gleeful cackling of his sibling and cousins.

Then they spotted her, and the giggling reached an even higher pitch.

"Jack . . ." she walked back into the room, leaning against the kitchen counter. "what did you say to the boy?"

"I honestly don't know. I thought I'd asked him where Toshiko is, but my Japanese is a little rusty. What did he say to me?"

"He said your Japanese is terrible. Would you be able to repeat what you said to him?"

"I think I said . . . 'Toshiko wa jigoku e ikimasu ka?'

She snorted. "I'm going to have to agree with Hiroshi, Jack. You just asked him if his favourite cousin was going to hell." Tosh smiled to herself. It was funny, she supposed. "Knowing you, I suppose I should be grateful you didn't ask him if I was going to the bordello, and if so could I bring you back a nubile young woman to ravish."

She could hear the grin in Jack's voice when he replied. "Only if you're planning on picking one up for yourself." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "So, the family's over from Japan?"

"Yes - my Grandfather on my mother's side, my Aunt Atsuko and her husband and children, my father's brother and his son, whom you just spoke to, my Great-Aunt Haruka, and my cousin Katashi and his wife, are all visiting from Japan - I lured them over with promises of a proper English Christmas. My brother's wife, Andrea, and their daughter have flown over from London, as well - Yori's deployed at the moment, otherwise I'm sure he would have come as well."

Tosh frowned, a sudden suspicion about why Jack might be calling causing her to continue hurriedly.

"It was a nightmare getting everything ready - thank God Ianto helped me out, or I wouldn't have got anything done in time, or would have forgotten half of it until the day before. Buying presents for people I hadn't seen since I was eleven, and others I'd only seen occasionally since then, organising the flights, hiring the dining table and extra beds, buying extra bedding, cutlery, crockery, the food. . . I had a lot of trouble trying to get a caterer, until Gwen gave me a hand. Apparently her boyfriend knew a guy who knew a guy . . ."

'No!' she wanted to shout. 'I have been waiting for this all year. I haven't seen my family in what feels like decades. I've put far too much time and effort into this Christmas to be pulled out halfway through to chase God-damned Weevils!'

Of course, if Jack said he needed her then Tosh would go. She wouldn't be happy about it, but she would go. Because she was nothing if not responsible, and because her work at Torchwood was important and should be honoured above even her family.

"Gotta love that 'word of mouth' thing they've got going around here," Jack said. Tosh was puzzled until she recalled her last comment - Rhys and the caterer.

'Maybe I'm being too suspicious,' Tosh thought to herself. The last six months had changed them all, and not all of those changes were good ones. It was Christmas, after all - it could be that Jack just wanted someone to talk to. If so, why he called her was a bit of a mystery. It wasn't as if she was a great conversationalist, after all, and she thought the others were much more interesting than her. Maybe he was just lonely.

"Did you want to come over for dinner, Jack?" she asked on a whim, wincing as the words tripped their way out of her mouth. Smooth, Tosh. "It wouldn't be any trouble, really. Actually, it would be doing me a favour. The Aunts would stop bothering me, and I'm sure you'd get along fine with the family." She added a silent qualifier - 'As long as you don't try and speak to them in Japanese.'

"Are they still pestering you about finding a husband?"

When had she spoken to Jack about - ah. During their accidental trip to the 1940's.

"Oh, yes."

"As fun as it would be to play your beau for the evening" and to Tosh's surprise he actually sounded serious rather than sarcastic, "There is that rule - 'No leaving the Hub unmanned.'"

"Oh, right. Well, things were a bit hairy after you left, with the Rift being more active than usual, which we think was a result of it - " she cleared her throat, pushing aside a stab of guilt, "being opened, which was why Ianto instated the rule -"

"Ianto instated the rule?" Jack interrupted. "I thought Owen was in charge."

"Owen only took charge when he had to." Except during those hellish first two weeks, when he had micro-managed every little thing until he was having migraines from the strain and she, Ianto and Gwen were on the verge of mutiny. "In this case, Ianto made the rule, Owen thought it was a good idea and so didn't countermand it."

"What the hell kind of leadership is that?"

Tosh cut in before he could continue. "Owen did the best he could, Jack, and as far as I'm concerned you have no right to criticise him." She have him a moment to respond, but he remained silent.

"As I was saying, the Rift was more active than normal, which was why the rule was instated. Things seem to have settled down, though - the Rift has been more stable in the last fortnight than it has been since the Sky Gypsy passed through it. You could just set the equipment at the Hub to send an alert to your mobile if any anomalies are detected. You'd be driving the SUV, so if you receive an alert all you'd have to do is duck outside and check the readings on the SUV's equipment to see what was wrong."

"Thanks for the advice, Tosh," Jack said, sounding distracted. The noise from the lounge-room had quieted somewhat, and she could now hear clicking in the background. A computer keyboard? Also a guitar, someone singing. Not live - too artificial, she could tell even through the phone line. Not even recorded live - probably pre-recorded in a studio somewhere, she thought disdainfully. Sounded like one of Owen's favourites √ the Snow Cats or some such thing.

"So, were you wanting to come around?" Tosh prodded lightly when Jack didn't continue.

"I've . . . I'd love to Tosh, but I've got something to deal with at the moment."

"Oh." She couldn't help but ask, "Do you need my help with anything?"

"No," he replied hurriedly. "I'll get one of the others, you stay with your family. I might come around later, though, if you don't mind? It's . . . 12.40am now. Isn't it a bit late for the little guy to be up?"

"Well, the flight messed up their internal clocks a bit. And besides, its Christmas - I doubt the children would have been able to sleep even if they hadn't been eating lollies all afternoon." She sighed slightly. "Which of course means I'm not likely to get any sleep tonight either."

She bit her lip, thinking.

"Jack -" she hesitated a moment, then plunged ahead. "Whenever you've finished whatever it is you're doing, you're free to come around, no matter what the time is. I've missed you."

"Thanks, Tosh," he said softly.

"And be sure you don't go chasing after anything on your own."

"What's with all these new rules?" Jack asked, mock-irritated. "I'm the boss, Tosh. Shouldn't I be making the rules?"

Tosh's brows furrowed in response to the levity in his tone, and she didn't bother to keep the anger from her response. "You were gone for six months. During that time, various disasters occurred that left us either stranded, half-dead, a hair's-width from insanity, or mourning loved ones. The rules were made for a reason, Jack."

"So, what?" he said, sounding genuinely irritated now. "The coffee machine went on a homicidal rampage after someone besides Ianto touched it?"

The coffee machine. That innocuous little white sign attached to its front that inspired such horrible memories whenever she happened to glance at it.

"No. Ianto went into a homicidal rage as a result of inhaling an alien gas that intensifies and amplifies negative emotions. He has so much self-control, we didn't even realise he'd been affected until he nearly ripped out Owen's throat with his teeth after the man broke the coffee machine. Again."

"Sorry - did you just say Ianto nearly ripped out Owen's throat with his teeth?"

"Yes, I did. And it's not funny. You can ask Owen - he'll whine about it at the drop of a hat. That's what those scars on his neck are from. We had to lock Ianto in the cells for three days until the effects wore off. If you'd seen it, Jack -"

Tosh gave an involuntary shudder at the memory

_Ianto's body was pressing Owen's into the ground, amidst a growing pool of coffee leaking from the machine._

_Owen was screaming, or he was trying to scream, but the pressure at his throat wouldn't allow him to, he could only squeak. His eyes wide, mouth drawn into a snarl of pain, limbs flailing ineffectively, pinned to the ground by Ianto's knees and elbows._

_Ianto's mouth at his throat, lips drawn back to show red-stained teeth digging into delicate flesh, blood leaking everywhere. The completely feral look in Ianto's gorgeous blue eyes, his face contorted harshly, pale and sweating, breath rasping through his nose, jaw muscles straining not to bite down, struggling to regain control._

_She and Gwen hadn't been able to pull him off, fearful that just touching Ianto would decide the battle being waged against the alien substance inside his mind and body, the battle against his own magnified emotions, and probably not in Owen's favour._

_Tosh had retrieved a syringe and tranquiliser from Owen's lab, and injected Ianto with as high a dose as she thought safe. She and Gwen had both heaved a huge sigh of relief when his jaw loosened rather than tightened, his body suddenly sprawling slackly across Owen's._

_What had come later had been nearly as painful to seel. Ianto had woken on the hard cell bed, which they had tried to make more comfortable with multiple layers of bedding. Once the drowsiness had worn off enough for him to remember what had happened the horror and guilt he felt at what had happened had been amplified into a nearly suicidal despair._

_They'd been worried enough he would try something that Owen decided to give him another sedative, despite the fact that Tosh had nearly overdosed him not long before. He had insisted on doing it himself._

_Ianto had looked up at the sound of the cell door opening, and flinched back at the sight of Owen, and the white bandages about his throat. His voice had sounded like it was coming from the depths of a well as he apologised, again and again, curling back into the corner made by the cell walls and the bed, as far as he could get from the other man._

_Owen had sat down on the far corner of the bed and started talking, so softly that she couldn't make out what was being said. Whatever it was it worked, because after a few minutes Ianto slowly began to move out from the corner, and finally held out his arm, allowing the doctor to inject the sedative._

_They hadn't been able to keep him under for long. Research had shown that if the subject was sedated, the molecules within the gas stopped breaking down. The molecules in their original state were toxic to the body, and the longer they were in the body the more ill the subject became. It was the breaking down of the molecules that caused the amplification of emotions._

_Despite how horrible it was, they had had to keep Ianto conscious and alert most of the time, allowing the molecules in the gas to break down, otherwise the toxins would have killed him._

_The effects had worsened over time, Ianto soon lost the last remnants of control. The man had ranted and raved at all of them, abused and begged, cried, spoke about and to people she'd never known, Lisa and Jack, his sister, mother and father . . . every now and then a kind of delirium set in, when he seemed to relive some of the more emotional, and often traumatic, parts of his life._

_As a result they'd learnt a number of things about Ianto Jones they hadn't known before. Personal things, private things. It was the exposure of a soul and they had no business watching, but he couldn't be left alone._

_By common consensus, the security camera for that cell had been turned off, and all listening devices removed. The recordings already made had been destroyed._

_That final night, after a particularly vivid half hour of childhood memories Ianto was hoarse from screaming and covered in scrapes. He was thrashing hard enough it looked like he was going to do himself a serious injury, so Owen had surrendered to Gwen's pleas and given him one more injection._

_When Ianto was sleeping peacefully, Tosh had left without a word, ascending the stairs and walking up through the Hub until she reached her work-station, the others following her silently._

_"What was that name?" Tosh had asked as she seated herself and positioned her fingers on the keyboard, not looking around._

_"Gruffydd Owain Jones," Gwen stated._

_A search of that name, along with the names 'Ianto' and 'Brianna' turned up a number of entries._

_"Gruffydd Owain Jones," she'd read aloud from the Registry information she had found. "Born 12th December 1952. Married to Gwyneth Brianna Andrews on 14th May 1978. Father of Ianto Neirin Jones, born 8th July 1980, and Brianna SiАn Jones, born 26th August 1986. Died on 16th May 2002. Was pre-deceased by his wife and daughter."_

_There was silence for a moment_

_"Does it say how he died?" Owen had asked._

_Tosh scanned the information again._

_"No," she'd murmured as she backtracked, trying to find a more informative entry._

_"Here we are - Gruffydd Owain Jones was imprisoned in Her Majesty's Prison, Cardiff, on 19th September 1990, after being convicted on five counts of violating a protection order, one count of attempted murder, one count of grievous bodily harm and . . . two counts of pre-meditated murder."_

_"He was released on 14th May 2002, and -" she squinted at the screen, leaning forward slightly. "He died two days later. It was a hit and run. No-one was charged - the police couldn't find any witnesses, let alone suspects. There weren't any cameras on that stretch of road, and hardly any evidence was found."_

_"He murdered his four year old daughter." Gwen, the former PC, had murmured. "I imagine the police didn't look too hard."_

_"It was too good for him." Owen had said coldly._

_Tosh had nodded silently. It had been too good a death. Too swift, possibly too painless. She could only suppose that Ianto had been as kind-hearted at twenty-one as he was now._

Ianto didn't recall much of what happened over those three days, or if he did he never mentioned it. Tosh never brought it up, and she couldn't imagine Gwen or Owen ever doing so, either.

They'd all made an effort to treat him as they had before, but some things had changed. Tosh couldn't help but be protective of him, and if Gwen didn't watch herself she ended up mothering him almost unbearably. Owen was rather protective of him as well, and had actually made an effort to become friends.

And she thought she knew why. Though she'd never asked, Tosh thought Owen had something in common with Ianto. Ianto and Suzie, actually.

What was it about Torchwood that seemed to attract people with bastards for fathers?

Speaking of bastards . . .

She brought her attention back to the Captain.

"So, anyway. Drop by if you can, Jack. And," she continued sternly, "do not go after anything alone. I don't care if you're immortal, it doesn't mean you can't get hurt. Or kidnapped. If you can't get one of the others to go with you, call me."

"Yes, ma'am." Jack replied, sounding amused.

She flushed slightly, realising she had fallen into her old school teacher's voice, the one she used to use when she was did guest lectures for the occasional class of physics students at universities around London. She'd found it useful during the last half-year, and it was becoming something of a habit.

"Well, see that you do," she stuttered, flustered.

"Will do. You have a good Christmas, Tosh."

"Merry Christmas to you, too. And, I am glad you're back."

"Me too," he replied, then hung up.

Tosh sighed, replacing the handset.

"Once more into the breach," she murmured under her breath, then walked back into the lounge-room.

_The Hub . . . _

Ianto had almost ripped Owen's throat out. With his teeth. No matter how upset Tosh had sounded, he still couldn't help but think it was funny.

Tosh had changed. She seemed more confident now, more sure of herself. Jack smiled. More bossy.

He glanced from his phone to the screen, the red thing still creeping its way across the roadway. Good thing it was Christmas, otherwise even at this hour someone would have driven through by now. And anyone driving less than a semi would probably be worse off after the encounter.

Jack debated whether or not to call Ianto. He had a solution to the problem of abandoning the Hub now, and regardless of what Tosh had said he was fairly sure this was something he could handle by himself.

On the other hand, there was that whole trust issue thing . . . and he wouldn't mind spending some time with Ianto.

On the previous hand, it looked cold enough outside without Ianto's icy eyes to chill him further.

But then there would be questions once everyone got to work, and Ianto found out he was the only one that Jack hadn't tried to contact. 'Why did you not call me?' Ianto would want to know. 'Do you think I'm incompetent? Do you think I can't handle catching a giant stuffed animal that moves at the pace of a caterpillar and has approximately the same level of intelligence?'

Whether Ianto would actually ask those questions, or just force Jack to endure really crappy coffee for a month as punishment, it might actually be worth it to get a reaction.

But then there was that whole trust issue thing again . . .

Resigned, he entered speed-dial one and pressed call.

And didn't know whether to be happy or pissed off when he was shunted straight to the pre-recorded message.

'The mobile phone you are attempting to call is either switched off or out of range. Please try again later.'

"That settles it," Jack said, standing impatiently. "I'm going."

He followed Tosh's advice and set the equipment so that an alert would be sent to his mobile if anything went wrong, then headed out the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_The Hub . . ._

"Finally." Owen exclaimed as Ianto pulled his car over to the side of the empty road. The other man jumped out, closing the door harder than was necessary behind him.

Ianto silently seconded the sentiment. Owen was one of the worst backseat drivers he had ever encountered, particularly when his lips were slightly loosened and his sense of self-preservation dulled by alcohol.

"We wouldn't have arrived any sooner if we'd been pulled over for speeding," Ianto replied, then thought, 'particularly if the police officer recognizes Owen as a member of Torchwood.' The car would probably have been searched out of spite if not suspicion.

He didn't say any of this out loud, of course. Though the street appeared to be deserted, that didn't necessarily mean that someone wasn't listening. One of the advantages of not often being called out into the field was that his identity as an agent of Torchwood was not known, and as a result he received none of the antagonistic behavior from disgruntled police and other officials that Owen, Tosh and Gwen did. He did not wish to lose that advantage because of a careless word heard by the wrong people.

He hadn't been driving all that slowly anyway. Owen was just irritated that they had taken Ianto's car rather than his.

Ianto unclipped his seatbelt and removed the keys from the ignition, then slid the keychain around in his hand until he found the one he needed. Leaning over into the passenger side of the car, he unlocked the glove box then reached in, feeling about the side until he located the catch. He flipped it, and the back panel came loose.

From the concealed chamber behind the loose panel he retrieved his pistol and its holster. He didn't know what they were dealing with yet - red and fuzzy was a fairly vague description, and he could think of at least thirty-two different species that fit it - so the compact gun would have to do him until they had some more information about what they were after.

After ensuring the gun was fully loaded, he clipped the holster to the belt at his right hip.

Carefully he closed the false panel, then began to rummage through the contents of the main compartment.

He imagined that anyone who knew him would be surprised at the cluttered mess contained within the glove box. There were incorrectly refolded road maps, an ink-defaced phone directory, a user's manual for the car, a small first-aid kit (a much more expensive and complete version of which was concealed under the driver's seat), several pens, of which only one worked consistently, a small torch, a notepad, even some crumpled up gum wrappers.

It was untidy, and it was irritating because even when Ianto couldn't see it, he knew it was there. It was an irritation he put up with, though, because having a perfectly clean and organized glove box wasn't normal.

A perfectly clean car wasn't normal, either, which was why there were lolly wrappers (from hard lollies only, following the reasoning that they would be the least dirty) and the occasional stray leaf scattered on the grey-carpeted floor. He even had a paper wrapper from a take-away burger wadded up and tucked underneath the passenger's seat (he had cleaned it beforehand, though, painstakingly scraping off the processed cheese. It wasn't entirely realistic, but there were limits).

Ianto hated it, but he thought it was a necessary precaution. Cover stories had been blown on less - all it would take would be being pulled over by a bored police officer, who might become curious or suspicious at how tidy the car was and conduct a search, perhaps uncovering one of the concealed compartments, which were not as well hidden as they could have been, as security had to be balanced against easy accessibility, in case of an emergency.

Even if there was nothing an officer would recognize as dangerous in the discovered compartment, such as the compact Trobik laser cannon which to the untrained eye would appear to be a rather eccentrically shaped fountain pen, it would result in the car being searched much more thoroughly.

The scenario likely to follow would be a nightmare.

The search would result in the discovery of a number of unregistered firearms and bladed weapons and Ianto Jones, operator of a small and not-easily-found Tourist Information Office near the Millennium Centre, would be charged with possession of unregistered firearms and carrying concealed weapons, and seeing as this was Cardiff and things like that 'never happened here', the newspapers would be all over it.

He'd become one of those infamous 'nice, quiet fellows who kept to themselves' and his entire life would be on display, lost footage playing on the news during a voice-over in which he was psycho-analyzed by PHD whores (one of Tosh's terms, the subject of many a not-quite-sober rant, whom she absolutely despised), who'd never even met him, let alone analyzed him.

Even if the team found out about it soon afterwards and sorted it out before the reporters got wind of it, they would have to cry 'Torchwood' to get him out and suppress the information, and because ret-conning an entire police department would be irresponsible and near-impossible, that would be Ianto's cover shot to hell and possibly the location of the Hub revealed, leaving the entire team vulnerable to police raids, crackpots and psychos, and any alien who wanted to be pro-active and get rid of Torchwood before Torchwood came for them.

A simple solution to all of this would be to not carry concealed weaponry in his car. That way Ianto could keep it as clean as he liked and it wouldn't matter if it was searched. And as tempting as it was, on occasion, to do just that (because Ianto really hated the mess), Tosh, Gwen and Owen had had many occasions to be grateful for his hidden caches, and he thought the danger of not having the weapons at hand was greater than the vague possibility of the car being searched and the Hub discovered.

Besides, he was certain that the moment he cleared out the compartments, there would be either an invasion or attempted Armageddon or maybe both, and something preventing them from returning to the Base to collect any equipment. The moment you weren't ready for something, he had learned, was when it came up and bit you on the arse.

Ianto knew it was an obsession, this need to be prepared for anything. He was aware that he couldn't plan for every contingency, and he knew it was illogical to feel that because he was ready for it, a disaster wouldn't happen.

Though he had never been properly diagnosed - obtaining an official diagnosis would require attendance upon a medical health professional, and Ianto had the feeling that if a psychiatrist ever got ahold of him he would spend the remainder of his life in a padded cell, eating with his hands because he couldn't be trusted with even plastic cutlery - Ianto was aware that he likely had an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

However, as his ability to work was unaffected, and the obsession with being prepared for anything was in fact rather useful, he chose to do nothing about it, in spite of Owen's version of concerned nagging, which consisted of sneering and snide comments, and not-quite-joking suggestions about seeing a counselor.

So he kept his car fully stocked with all of its quite illegal content, and never drove over the speed limit unless it was vital.

There wasn't always time to collect one of the SUVs from the Hub before responding to a call, and at such times having a small armory at his disposal was very useful. Though, mindful of conspiracy theorists with too much intelligence and too much time on their hands, he avoided using the car as much as possible.

As Tosh demonstrated on a regular basis, hacking into the Department of Motor Vehicles and obtaining information from registration plates was far easier than it should be.

Thinking of Toshiko, Ianto wondered how her long-anticipated Christmas Dinner was going. Luring her family to Cardiff had seemed to involve as many compromises and taut negotiations as a hostage exchange. It was the first time they had gathered at her home and she had been rather nervous about it, had worn herself out trying to get everything organized in time. He hoped Jack hadn't called her in - she deserved some time with her family.

His seeking fingers encountered leather, and he withdrew his mobile phone case. Retrieving his phone from its pocket on the door's interior, he frowned down at the darkened screen. He hadn't noticed that when he collected it from Owen's bedside table earlier.

"Did you turn my phone off, Owen?" he called.

Peering through the windscreen, he saw the other man shift his weight against the bonnet guiltily, then lean further back as if at ease, planting his hands on the recently-cleaned chrome.

"Hurry up, will you?" he called impatiently, ignoring the question. "I'm freezing my arse off out here."

'That would be a yes, then,' Ianto thought to himself as he switched it back on. That might explain why Jack hadn't called him.

"Hands off the car, please. Do we need to have another talk about respecting other people's property?"

"No," Owen replied quickly, removing his hands but not his arse. "Feel free to give that lecture to Jack, though," he suggested. "I swear that was my IPod I heard in the background earlier."

"Do it yourself. I've given it to you often enough that you should have the entire thing memorized by now."

"Yeah, but he's not going to listen to me, is he? You, on the other hand . . ."

'You think because we fucked a few times he's going to listen to me?' Ianto thought, only barely managing to keep the harsh words in.

He wasn't angry at Owen, of course. His rather blatant attempt at manipulation by flattering his ego, 'Surely he'd listen to you,' was rather sweet. Obviously a ploy to try and get him to talk to Jack.

Owen usually wasn't that obvious. He must still be slightly drunk.

Ianto sighed. He probably should have left the other man at his flat, and come alone. He didn't know what Jack had seen, how serious the situation was, but their job was dangerous enough without doing it half-smashed.

But he'd started talking about Dianne. Owen, drunk and alone and thinking about Dianne, not a good combination. Especially at Christmas – from the little Owen had told him about their relationship, he knew that Christmas last year had been their last night together, before she flew into the Rift.

It was why Ianto had offered to come around tonight – actually, it would be last night, now - in the first place, worried he would do something stupid if left to himself.

Ianto hadn't particularly wanted to spend Christmas alone, either. He was certain he'd do something he'd regret. For instance, drive over to the Hub and tell Jack to take him over his desk.

And here he was, at the Hub. At least Owen was with him. Hopefully they'd be able to prevent each-other from doing foolish things.

Ianto thought of the man's earlier, slightly slurred words.

_'Stop doing that cold, emotionless butler thing to the Captain. Even I know that you use it to hide what your feeling, and if I know it you can be damn sure that Jack does.'_

It was good advice. Unfortunately, it was advice he doubted he would be able to put into practice. Ianto didn't know if he was capable of acting in a more natural manner towards the Captain, without giving anything away.

A careless word, unguarded look, thoughtless gesture, that was all it would take. The man read tone and body language like an average person read a magazine.

The blank mask was easy to maintain, and un-interpretable. It was like a wall between him and Jack, preventing the other man from seeing what he felt, and the effort of keeping the wall in place had the added bonus of keeping Ianto's own emotions distant.

Owen groaned theatrically, then shook his body in what Ianto supposed was meant to be a shiver, and rubbed his hands over his arms in an exaggerated manner.

When he received no response Owen sighed. Though the other man was facing away, Ianto imagined he was rolling his eyes. "Why do you care about a few hand marks, anyway?" he grumbled. "This car is shit. Dull and boring. I'm sure you could afford something a bit more impressive."

Ianto slipped the mobile into its case then clipped it to his belt at the left, opposite from the weapon.

Pushing the door open, he swung his legs out and stood, shivering slightly at the cold air. He did a quick sweep of the area.

The streets seemed deserted, though there were shadows collecting in corners and alleyways dark enough to conceal any number of things.

The stars shone brilliantly overhead, with no silhouettes visible against them. Clear skies, unless there was something using a cloaking device, or was small or far off enough that it didn't block the starlight.

He always checked the skies, now. Ever since the 'new' nightmares began, almost right after Jack left.

Though he thought of them as new, they weren't entirely. The old dreams of giants with guns, blood staining the dented metal hood of his car, the whirring of machinery almost but not quite drowning out the screaming and rasp of saws through flesh, feet in freezers and empty eyes, were now infused with other elements.

Circular shadows flitting over concrete and grass, a gentle whirr like a bird in flight, repulsive yet heartrending instruments of mortality raining death from the skies, a torrential downfall, drowning the entire world.

Owen's heavy steps echoed through the night as he began to walk towards the entrance to the tourist office, the sound slightly off-beat because of his limp.

Ianto locked the car, then walked around it to the footpath, testing each door as he passed to be certain it was locked up properly.

Drawing the old-fashioned skeleton-key from the bundle clenched in his fist, he let them into the office.

With the locked door between them and any possible prying ears, Ianto continued their conversation as he switched on the lights.

"And how many tourist office personnel do you see driving posh cars?" he replied as he ran his eyes over the interior, straightening a pile of brochures that he was certain had been straight before he left. "It would stand out."

Besides, he liked his car. It was comfortable, inconspicuous, and surprisingly fast.

"And exactly how many tourist office personnel do you see wearing expensive suits?" Owen countered, as he walked to the side of the desk and pressed the hidden button. The entrance to the Hub hissed open.

"There's nothing wrong with my suits," Ianto replied, slightly indignant. He lowered his voice as they walked together down the hallway - the walls of rough-hewn brick seemed to amplify sound. "I am supposed to be a helpful, earnest, respectful, polite, well-brought-up young Welshman, who takes his job seriously enough to dress properly for it. The suits fit that image."

The other man snorted. "Yeah, the suits are very fitting - much tighter than any 'well-brought-up young Welshman' should be wearing."

Ianto's mouth twitched into an involuntary smile. "Are you complaining?"

The metal grating chimed lightly underneath their feet, as they stepped from the elevator into the cage-like entrance-way.

Ianto tilted his head slightly to the side, listening. He wondered what had prompted Jack to flood the Hub with music, particularly modern music. The man often complained that music had died with Glenn Miller, and never listened to anything younger than he appeared to be.

There was no sign of him or the girls.

"Jack?" Owen yelled, "You in?"

Ianto walked to the nearest computer situation, not bothering to sit down as he ran a quick scan of the base for heat signatures.

Examining the results, he sighed. "Unless he's killed one of the Weevils and taken its place in the cells, then no, he's not here."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Owen snarled. "Four months we spend, four months and the Hub has never been unmanned. Wearing ourselves out to make sure someone is always here just in case something happens, sleeping on that lumpy bitch of a lounge once every four nights and being woken up every hour whenever so much as a tremor passes through the Rift. We leave him alone here for one fucking night, and he's gone."

'Gone . . .' Ianto inhaled sharply, feeling a sudden jab of fear. Could he have left them again, despite the constant assurances Jack had given them over the last week?

He'd told them over and over again, altogether and separately, that he wasn't going anywhere, that he'd not leave them again.

That this was where he was needed, on this planet, in this time.

Like some insane visionary, a prophet standing before his people and preaching the conveniently vague word of God. 'The 21st Century is when it all changes,' he had proclaimed, 'and we have to be ready.'

That statement had prompted very diverse reactions. Gwen had rolled her eyes and said, surprisingly bitterly, that she'd heard it all before and had yet to see the truth of it. Tosh had demanded to know how it was possible he knew what was to come? Owen had laughed in his face. Ianto had said nothing, his face a mask, but he had been convinced Jack was speaking, in a rather pompous manner, what he considered to be the truth.

The Captain had come back because it was his duty.

Ianto had angrily pushed aside the hurt he felt at having his private hopes dashed - he was an idiot to have ever thought Jack might have come back because of them. For Tosh, for Gwen and Owen, and for him.

Because he refused to demean himself by acting like a heart-broken adolescent girl, the masks were kept firmly in place, lines drawn, walls erected, emotions concealed.

He had been careful, after that initial outburst of violence, to ensure that all his dealings with Jack were business-like and coldly professional.

He had got on with his job.

Ianto Jones understood duty, though it wasn't what drove him. He sought to atone.

And if he lived for even a thousand years, he didn't know if it would be long enough to make up for all that he had done.

Ianto understood why Jack had come back, but not why he had left in the first place. That final kiss, before he sent Tosh, Owen and him for take-out and then disappeared, had felt like forgiveness. And, maybe, something more.

But now, he thought maybe he had been wrong. Why else would Jack have left them, if it wasn't as a result of their betrayal?

Wherever he had gone, it had changed him. He was older than he had been, though the years could not be seen on his face.

It was the eyes that were different. There was a new look there - pained and darting on occasion, as if anticipating being struck by something. Distant and haunted, a look that had been there before but never more often than now. And there was calm as well, absolute serenity, like still water.

He had also noticed that Jack checked the skies more often than before.

Over the last week, he had a number of times felt an uncharacteristic urge to grab the Captain by the shoulders and shake him, screaming "Tell me what happened to you!" until he gave in.

Jack's assurances had grown more vehement and even angry at his team's doubt, but was unable to defend himself against Gwen, who summed up the position of her colleagues perfectly. 'How can we be sure you won't disappear again, when we don't even know why you left in the first place? You expect us to trust you, to believe in you, but you don't even trust us enough to tell us where you've been.'

Had he left them again?

'Be logical,' Ianto told himself harshly. 'If he was going to leave he would have just left, not called Owen talking about furry red aliens and asking for help.'

A few more quick keystrokes and the security footage of the garage were sprawled across the screen.

"The primary vehicle is missing . . ." he closed the window of current footage and went into the archived material, pulling up the most recent recordings, skipping backwards in five-minute increments until the SUV was back in place.

He let it play at a slightly faster than normal speed. After a few seconds, the edge of the doorway became visible as it was opened. Ianto quickly returned the recording to normal speed and watched as Jack came into view. His coat billowed slightly behind him as he strode towards the car.

"Jack took it out, about fifteen minutes ago." Ianto's eyes narrowed slightly. "Alone."

"Stupid bugger." Owen's voice sounder further away than before. Ianto turned to see the other man staggering up the short stairway and into the main office area. "Suppose he could have gone to pick up one of the girls, though."

Ianto opened another program, and examined the map of Cardiff showing on the monitor. "No, Tosh is still at home . . ." he replied, tapping a finger against the screen, where a lavender-colored circle hovered above the image of a two-storey house. "And Gwen . . ." he trailed his finger down the screen, trying to locate the other woman's blue icon. "Is at her flat, and apparently being smothered by a green circle."

"That's prob'ly Rhys," Owen called from behind Tosh's desk. The music cut off suddenly, as Owen located his music player and switched it off. "Gwen tagged him after that time he got lost in Butetown." Detecting a hint of smugness in his voice, Ianto glanced over at the other man. Even over the distance, in the uncertain light, he could make out the satisfied grin on the other man's face. "Told you the tracking system would be useful."

"I never said it wouldn't be useful. What I objected to was being tagged like a pet dog with a tendency to stray."

"Too bad he wouldn't let me tag him," Owen sighed. "There's a mongrel we could do with keeping track of."

"You _asked_ him?" Ianto said disbelievingly.

"No, of course I didn't ask him," Owen replied, indignant. "He wouldn't let me put him under. It's a bit difficult to conceal the fact that you're performing surgery to insert a micro-chip when your patient is conscious. And bitchy."

"As long as he stays with the SUV we'll know where he is." A quick scan of the map showed the missing vehicle to be stationary, pulled up by the side of the road, at the western end of Johnstone Street.

"Yeah, but we don't know what he's chasing." Owen giggled. "Looks like you've run out of options – you're going to have to call him."

Ianto sighed, then unhooked the phone from his waist. He was right - they'd found out all they could by themselves, and though he'd have liked to just appear at Jack's location and avoided any arguments about the Captain not needing a babysitter or a guardsman, which Ianto intended to ignore anyway, he would much rather be properly prepared.

"Oh, fuck."

Ianto, who had been about to make the call, paused and looked over at Owen, frowning disapprovingly. 'The man swears far too often,' he thought.

He was sitting in Tosh's chair, staring intently at one of the computer screen. "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah," the other man said, voice flat. "I'd say there's a problem." Ianto jogged across the hub and up the stairs. When Owen used that tone of voice, people died. Last time he had heard it, that person had almost been Tosh.

Peering at the screen over the other man's shoulder, he frowned. It looked like CCTV footage, however the image was remarkably clear. Of much higher quality than the council would usually spend on street surveillance.

Crouched alongside a parked car in an empty suburban street, was a creature that was likely the cause of Owen's profanity, and Jack's abrupt departure.

The creature was about . . . 1.5 meters long, judging by the length of the car it was crouched beside. About half that in height, but because he couldn't see its legs properly, he couldn't tell how tall it would be standing.

It was covered in thick reddish fur, or possibly cilia.

The light from the nearby street-lamp reflected off its eyes like it would from a cat's. Four fluorescent bluish orbs, positioned on its face like the corners of a rectangle.

The distance between each eye was longer vertically than horizontally, which made Ianto think that its peripheral vision would be fairly limited, though it could see more of what was happening above it than a human would . . . if a human's vision was like a landscape image, he imagined this being's would be described as a portrait image.

Its tapered head sat oddly on a short neck, set higher than with most Earth creatures so it seemed to be towards the nearby rooftops.

There were two ridges the color of well-polished ebony running the length of the creatures back. Whatever material it they were made of was very flexible, because as the creature stirred slightly, and a ripple ran along its body, like a Mexican wave at a football match, the ridges rippled, too.

The movement allowed Ianto to see its lower limbs. Three pairs, which was probably why the body rippled when it moved, undulating slightly in a manner similar to that of a caterpillar.

Its claws were long, sharp, and would have inspired fear if Ianto hadn't realized what manner of creature if was.

"It's a Greilm," he said calmly. "Got to be." He placed a hand on Owen's tense shoulder, and was careful not to sound condescending as he continued. "It's just an animal - rather placid, and not very intelligent. The dominant species on their planet keep them as pets. Until they reach adulthood, anyway. Then, if they're not to be kept as breeding stock they're slaughtered and the entire hive has a feast." he frowned, staring at the animal. "This one was lucky. It's not quite an adult - a full-grown Greilm has wider ridges - but it was getting close. I'm sure we'll be able to find a home for it."

"Yes, I'm sure the RSPCA will have people lining up for the opportunity to adopt a nearly car-length, rather predatory-looking mutated cat with too many eyes and too many legs," Owen replied. His sarcasm lacked its usual bite, and Ianto wondered what the doctor had seen that he had missed.

The other man shifted forward slightly. "But if you'd care to turn you attention to this . . ." Owen jabbed his finger at the Greilm's leathery, bat-like ear.

Ianto leaned forward even further, keeping one hand on Owen's shoulder and placing the other on Tosh's desk to keep his balance.

There was what looked like a silver piercing in the edge of the ear. It caught the light from the streetlamp, glinting against the bald black skin.

Recognition slowly dawned, and he suddenly felt as though he had just swallowed a large number of heavy lead weights.

"Can you magnify . . ."

It was in the bar-bell style, with one small ball attached to each end of a metal bar passing through the flesh. Now the image was larger, he could see a graceful, flowing symbol engraved into the curve of the closest sphere. A very familiar symbol.

There was no doubt, now.

"Oh," Ianto exhaled softly. "Fuck."

* * *

So, what do you think?


End file.
